


Tremble At The Taste Of

by Kissing_Toast



Series: Lupus Nocte [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Another AU fic, Gen, Gypsies this time, I think I overdid it with the metaphors, Sam and Dean are Travellers, Swearing, They're not hunters in this but they still have the skills, This was meant to be a short fic but my muse just made me keep writing, Violence, and WEREWOLVES, and made up family members, but not SPN werewolves, gratuitous use of run-on sentences, kinda switches between Sam and Dean's POV, lots and lots of swearing, mild gore I guess, sadly Mary and John are still dead..., that are still alive, though I tried not to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 23:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3956494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissing_Toast/pseuds/Kissing_Toast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gypsy werewolves, owning up to their birthright. Swearing, nudity, anger, a bit of magic and an attempt at comedy.</p><p>It's not really set during any particular season, more that the sibling vibe is closer to that of the earlier seasons, rather than the angstiness of later ones.</p><p>A/N: Added a section to Ch. 6 that I had apparently derped and not copy/pasted during the first go round....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I mean no disrespect to the Roma or Traveller people in writing this. I’m fascinated with the culture, and most of the aspects of it that I’m writing about here are taken from documentaries and online research, I've also made up a few things. This story is purposefully romantizing them and adding a blatant element of the supernatural. If anyone finds anything I’ve written here to be bigoted, demeaning or just plain wrong I’m open to discussing the issue via PM.
> 
> As always this is intended for entertainment and is heavy on the artistic license :P

A howl sounds through the forest. Distant yet piercing, haunting enough to chill the blood.

It's a moonless night. Steel-grey clouds had billowed across the sky after dusk, ominous and frightening, blocking out any light from the heavens. They look at each other, green eyes meeting hazel, darkness obscuring familiar features.

“How far you think we're gonna have to chase him this time?” Dean inquires lightly.

Sam returns his gaze to the overgrown labyrinth of woods, looking vaguely in the direction of their quarry. His eyes narrow, “’Bout half a mile.” He's relatively unconcerned.

“Through _this_. Awesome…” Dean frowns and throws one arm wide, encompassing the surroundings. Sam gives him a flat look.

Another howl rends the air, close now and moving closer. It snaps their attention back ahead, pinpoint focus searching the woods like sonar.

“Or not.” Dean says, half-surprised and tightening the grip on his gun. He takes a few steps deeper into the forest, sizing up pine and oak like they're enemy sentinels blocking his path. “He’s never doubled back before has he?” Head swiveling back around to Sam as hushed words flutter into the night.

Sam shifts, eyes darting back and forth, trying to see into the distance. “No, he hasn't. Last month we chased him for over a mile, that way,” he points off to the right with his gun. “And the month before that we tracked him all the way to Pembroke Hills, remember?”

Dean gives an annoyed grunt and shrugs.

“Dude, how do you not keep track of this?” Sam demands petulantly.

“I dunno, man. This is just… small fries.” Dean answers blithely, shrugging again.

“It's uncle Ronnie, Dean! And we wouldn't have to chase him every damn time if you’d just keep the fucking whiskey away from him.” Sam huffs.

Dean opens his mouth to reply when it sounds again, enveloping them as if some brittle, tangible thing.

“We’ll talk about this later.” He says before moving towards the source of the encroaching wail.

They move in sync, blind knowledge instructing long-ingrained actions. Like two meteors sharing an orbit as they crash through prickly underbrush. Their footsteps can barely be heard over dry leaf crackle and cold wind moan. A break in the clouds lets shivering moonlight-glow illuminate a dark shape about fifteen feet away, bobbing in the shadows.

Dean raises his gun, sights through the trees. Sam follows suit.

“C’mon now, Ronnie. It's not nice to sneak up on people.” Dean chides.

A growl trickles through the night in response.

“We gotta get you home.” Sam says conversationally. “Before you hurt someone.”

Both of them are scanning the deep shadows, alert stances contradicting their words. The beast growls again, final warning, before leaping towards them. It flies like a furred cannonball, propelled by animalistic fury. Time slows down to lethargic molecules and it seems like they have all the time in the world to adjust aim and squeeze triggers.

A shot rings out, downing the beast a mere foot in front of Sam, and time snaps back to normal. Wet splatters onto his face, copper tang bursting over his tongue as blood seeps between his lips. He licks it off absently as he crouches to survey the damage.

Dean’s bullet has hit the right side of the werewolf’s chest, leaving a gaping hole. An angry wound, spitting crimson.

Dean steps over to the heaving creature, nudging it with the toe of one boot before grinning at his brother. “Dude. Saved your life.”

“Hardly.” Sam picks up a twig and pokes at the wound, watching it slowly reknit as Dean crouches next to him. “You took out one of his lungs. What ammo did you use?”

Dean's grin fades. “.45 JHP, same as always.”

“Well, he's gonna be pissed when he wakes up.” Sam stands, flinging the twig off into the foliage. “Help me drag him back.”

Dean gives a long-suffering moan and stands. "We can't even see the trailer from here. Just let him sleep it off in the woods." He whines.

"We're not leaving him here!" Sam insists impatiently.

After three hundred feet of swearing, bitching and snagging bushes they get uncle Ronnie's still-furry form back to the trailer and into bed.

"He's gonna kick your ass in the morning." Sam points out.

Dean looks at his brother and chuckles.

"What?" Sam asks, eyebrows going up.

"Your face looks like a damn Rorschach test." Dean dissolves into full-out laughter, nearly doubling over.

"You're an ass." Sam grumbles, stomps out into the living room. Dean joins him a moment later, shoulders still shaking with silent laughter.

Sam buys his brother's emotional sobriety with whiskey. They fall onto the couches and into heated discussion regarding uncle Ronnie's monthly problem. Sam actually uses those words and it sends Dean into another fit of laughter. Sam just frowns, asking silently why he had to be cursed with such a childish _older_ sibling.

"Dude, stop being immature." Sam sighs. "Full moon's in two days, we gotta figure this out."

Dean's giggling abates. "Keep your panties on Samantha. We'll just lock up the liquor... or Ronnie."

"This isn't just a one time fix, Dean. Every month it'll be harder, damn near impossible, for him to control this if he's wasted."

"We control it." Dean counters.

"You know that's different." Sam replies gravely.

"We got the Gathering in two days. Let's just fork him off on the others. They can babysit him for one night."

"And until then?"

"Until then we'll just keep him as sober as possible."

Sam's mouth drops open.

"Sun'll be up soon. I'm getting some sleep." Dean ignores his brother's expression. Pulls his boots off before settling back on the couch.

Dean's dismissal ends the discussion but it doesn't quell Sam's worry. 


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning Dean awakes to the smell of breakfast. Greasy meat wafting to his nostrils, dead pig, making that other hunger in him flicker. He pushes it away. Tomorrow night they'll both be able to drop all control.

Sam brings a plate around the divider wall, setting it down in front of him on the coffee table. It's piled high with bacon.

"Eat up," Sam says, returning with his own plate.

Dean pokes at his food. "I'm sick of bacon..."

Sam practically chokes on his first bite, turning incredulous, wide eyes on his brother. "You? Don't want _bacon_? Are you feeling-" He cuts himself off and lunges towards Dean, pressing a hand against his forehead.

"Dude, get off me." Dean protests, swatting the limb away. "I'm sick of eating _nothing but_ bacon."

"We ran out of steak," Sam shrugs, retaking his seat. "It's what we got."

"Couldn't we at least have some eggs?" Dean takes a small bite, grimacing.

"We need the meat, shut up and eat." Sam turns on the TV.

"That rhymed." Dean chuckles.

Sam gives him a half-hearted bitchface.

"Christ, you're touchy in the mornings...." Dean rolls his eyes and tucks in to his breakfast.

A few hours later uncle Ronnie emerges from the bedroom, ratty bathrobe hanging open over thin shoulders. He looks like shit and smells twice as bad.

Dean glances up from the TV, averts his eyes. "Ronnie, cover your junk!" He calls amiably, like it's not the first time he's had to tell him.

The older man pulls the robe closed and hobbles over to sink into his armchair.

"The fuck did you two do to me?" He wheezes, pulling a pack of smokes from his pocket and lighting one all the same. The first drag leaves him coughing, hacking and wet, like he's trying to dislodge sludge from broken lungs.

"I shot you to stop you from mauling Sammy. Pass me a smoke." Dean holds up a hand, waggling fingers at his uncle.

Ronnie stands and moves disjointedly to where Dean sits, smokes held out in one hand. Just as Dean reaches for them he snatches his hand back and smacks him across the back of the head. "Don't fuckin' shoot me boy!" He grumbles.

"Don't fuckin' try to eat us then!" Dean shoots back.

“Ronnie, you were pretty far gone last night. You attacked us while we were trying to get you back to the trailer, we didn't have a choice.” Sam tries to smooth over hurt feelings.

“I didn't…” Ronnie denies, returning to his chair.

“You did.” Sam corrects, while Dean snaps his fingers, still wanting the smokes. Ronnie tosses them to him, aim off by about five feet, and they sail over the back of the couch.

“You got drunk and turned.” Dean glares at him as he retrieves the soft pack. “You went for Sam, and I of course had to save his gigantor hide.” He taps a cigarette out and sits, digging his Zippo out to light it.

“You're losing control outside of the full moon.” Sam begins carefully. “And-"

“And we're getting fuckin' sick of chasing your wrinkly ass all over this county.” Dean finishes for him, taking a drag.

“I got loose?” Ronnie asks, still skeptical.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes out smoke.

Ronnie tries to wrap his head around that news for a second. “I’d never hurt you boys, you're kin.”

“Not on purpose.” Dean mutters under his breath, at which Sam turns a disapproving look on him.

“Was’at boy?” Ronnie inquires.

“Look,” Sam steers the discussion back on track. “We’ve got two choices here. Either you quit drinking or someone else is gonna have to take care of you. Someone that has the right facilities-"

“Facilities.” Ronnie scoffs. “Time was we wolves could just roam free.”

“We know.” Dean interrupts before their uncle can go off on another ‘those were the days’ tangent. “But it's too risky right now.”

That gets a rise out of the old man. He doesn't remember much these days but the constant annoyance that times have changed is something he can't seem to forget. Every time either of them points it out he almost blows a gasket in that tricky ticker of his.

“You're livin’ under my roof, ya little shits. Don't try tellin’ me what I can't do.”

Sam purses his lips, Dean rolls his eyes. This isn't the first time they’ve had this discussion, not the twentieth either.

“We're just trying to stay under the radar.” Sam says diplomatically, trying to keep the peace.

“The fucking gadžes’ll find any excuse they can to run us out of town.” Dean translates, as he grinds out the cigarette on his empty plate. “Our people have had a long and sordid history of being shunned, hell, even lynched. We can't take any chances. The Gathering’s tomorrow and I sure as shit don't wanna come back to find this place molotoved. Get it?”

Ronnie holds Dean’s gaze in a challenge for a few heartbeats, then flicks his still-glowing cigarette butt at him. “Fine! Ya son of a... ” He mutters.

Dean shakes the smoldering projectile onto the floor, crushing it under his boot heel, adding another black mark to the already ruined carpet. “Glad you're on board. I’ll make you some coffee.”

“Don't want no damn coffee.” Ronnie complains as Dean heads into the kitchen.

“Tough!” He calls back.


	3. Chapter 3

A few hours after the sun has set, Dean pulls a bottle of whiskey from its hiding place in the sofa cushions, then quietly pads outside to join Sam.

“How's he doing?” Sam asks, taking the offered bottle.

“Shaky, pissed, babbling about some shit…” Dean sits next to his brother. “I dunno, I tuned him out like half an hour ago.”

Sam chuckles around a mouthful of whiskey, then sobers, looking at the sky. “Moon’s up. I hope it's enough.”

“It’ll be enough.” Dean takes a drink, hands the bottle back.

They sit in silence for a stretch, cicada song filling the balmy night along with whiskey dregs sloshing as they drink. Tonight is clear and the stars fill the sky with pinpoints of cold light. The moon has just cleared the trees, silver light washing over them, full of dark promise and unleashed urges.

“I'm worried about the Gathering.” Sam breaks the silence.

“Why?” Dean lights a cigarette, holding the pack out to Sam who shakes his head.

“Well, for one thing it’ll be the first time I participate.” He turns a sidelong look on his brother.

“Dude, it's nothing. We change, we run around and howl at the moon and then we get wasted.”

“It's more than that Dean. We’ll be around the whole clan. We’ll be evaluated, have eyes on us the whole time. And you're in the running for alpha.” Sam sighs.

“So?” Dean shrugs.

“Don't even try to act like you're not worried about it.” Sam challenges.

“I'm really not, Sam. I dunno what to tell you. Just cause I'm in the running doesn't mean I’ll get top spot. And even if I do, I’m not gonna take it.” He bumps Sam’s shoulder with his own, smiling.

Sam stands in a huff. “You have to take it! It's in our blood, our line, it's our destiny.”

“Sam-”

“No! Mom would be ashamed to hear you. Wanting to throw away your birthright.”

“Don't bring mom into this.” Dean speaks low, a warning.

“She’d smack you into next week.” Sam shakes his head.

Dean stands abruptly, throwing himself at Sam. “If I get alpha – _if_ – then you’ll be right there next to me. You'll be my second. And all those jealous sons of bitches’ll have to get through both of us to take it away.” Dean growls, voice low and nose to nose with his brother.

Sam steps back, confused. “I thought you weren't gonna take it.”

“I'm not.” Dean turns away, anger receding fast, downs the last mouthful of whiskey. He pitches the bottle off towards the trees, waiting to hear it shatter before continuing. “ I just… need a plan B in case they won't take no for an answer.”

“You know they won't.” Sam says quietly.

“Yeah, I know…” His shoulders slump as he flicks the spent cigarette away, turns back to his brother. “But I gotta try.”

“You wouldn't be you if you didn't.” Sam smiles sadly.

“And hey,” Dean adds cheerfully, “if I get alpha, all the pussy we can handle, huh?” He waggles his eyebrows and grins, turning to go inside.

“Oh, yeah, that’ll definitely give you enough incentive.” Sam laughs and follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I use the term alpha in this but it’s not a reference to A/B/O dynamics like in a lot of other fics on here. Alpha in this sense just refers to the leader of a werewolf pack/clan. The general idea is taken from the Anita Blake ‘verse, though I’ve only taken bits and pieces and even then changed stuff around. Men change, women carry a latent gene. Suffice it to say that AB fans will most likely recognize the similarities, but the mythology is still only loosely based on that ‘verse and not enough that I felt it could/should be marked as any kind of crossover.
> 
> ETA: Rewatching S6 and remembered that they use alpha on the show too, it's not meant in that way either :P


	4. Chapter 4

“You’ll have to prove yourself, even though you have the best shot of getting it.” Sam says randomly the next day as they drive towards Old Haven.

“God, Sam, not this again!” Dean groans. “We’ve got a six hour drive ahead of us.”

Uncle Ronnie snores in the back seat, as if to second the indignation.

“Just,” Sam lowers his voice, “Watch your back. Other families are vying to get their kid to alpha. We may not have been to a Gathering since we were kids but you remember as well as I do what kind of political shit goes on.”

Sam looks at his brother who studiously keeps his eyes on the road.

“Dean?”

“Fine!” Dean flicks his eyes to the passenger seat. “I'll be careful. But I swear to christ, if you keep nagging it'll fuck up my zen.”

“Thank you.” Sam says, relieved.

“And hey, I am practically a shoe-in. Purest bloodline of the bunch.” Dean grins.

“At least according to Dad…” Sam says to the passenger window.

 

* * *

 

When they reach the campsite the setting sun is backlighting the clouds along the horizon, painting them like pastel cotton candy strewn across the sky. It's packed and they're among the last to arrive.

Those who live close enough have made the trip in the traditional horse-drawn carriages, _vardo_ , but the field is littered with plenty of campers, RV’s and even a handful of tents.

Both brothers shed their usual jackets for more traditional garb. Dean’s coat has been passed down from oldest son to oldest son on their father’s side for five generations. The colorful embroidery is faded and frayed with age. Sam wears a similar coat that has come from his great uncle on their mother’s side. Overcoats of black wool, hand stitched with intricate patterns of thread, all colors under the sun. Almost like tapestries, they tell the story of the wearer – new images being added as they get passed down through the years.

They wake up Ronnie and coax him out of the backseat with spurious promises of booze. His face splits into a crack-toothed grin, cheerful as a drunken monkey.

“It's too damn hot for these.” Dean complains as they move through the boneyard of parked vehicles.

"Tradition, Dean. Suck it up." Sam answers dismissively.

The brothers make their way through the large assemblage, Ronnie in tow, with a nod here and a smile there. Over a hundred of their clan have shown up, everyone on the east coast who was able to make the trip. They're moving slow, mass of bodies pressing around them, jostling and hindering forward momentum, too many people trying to occupy the same space.

"Anton! Esmeralda!" Ronnie hollers and pushes past them to a _varda_  a few yards ahead. He greets the couple warmly, if a little off kilter. "Boys!" He yells back over his shoulder. "Come and say hi!"

"Look at you two," Anton drawls through a crooked smile. He's about the same age as Ronnie but far more toothless, lending a peculiar sibilance to his speech. "Haven't seen you since the last time your Daddy brought you to a Gatherin'. How long has it been?"

"About fifteen years." Dean says.

"Good to see you again." Anton shakes hands with them both.

"You boys grew up handsome." Esmeralda smiles, pats their cheeks appreciatively. "Come in and have some _pălincă_."

"We'd love to, really, but we gotta be moving along." Dean apologizes .

"Don't let Ronnie have too much." Sam says quietly to Esmeralda, who smiles and nods.

They move off, scanning the crowd until Dean sees a familiar face.

“Hey, Dessy!” He shouts, after a few yards of progress.

She turns and lights up like a child on Christmas morning at the sight of them. Long skirts swaying and gold chains clinking as she maneuvers through the crowd to throw her arms around the elder brother.

“Dean!” She exclaims and steps back. “Sam! Great to see you guys again.”

Sam sweeps her up unto a warm hug, lifting her clear off the ground.

“Great to see you too, Dessy.” The younger says as he sets her back on her feet.

“How's our favorite cousin?" Dean smiles. " And what's with the _înveliş_? Haven't seen you in a dress since we were kids.”

“You know Ma won't let me run around a Gathering in jeans. _Too formal_.” Dessy says, affecting a matronly tone. “I’m good. Been taking care of Nana who wasn't too happy to be dragged out here but…” She trails off.

“What?” Dean follows her line of sight.

“Dimitri, four o’clock.” She whispers.

Both brothers turn around to see him moving towards them, face pinched, nose skyward and shoulders resolutely squared.

"Winchesters. Why on earth are you here?" Words dripping darkly from sneering lips.

"Nice to see you too, Dimwit." Dean says innocently. “Or was it Dipshit?”

Dimitri looks like he's sucking on a lemon.

“Dickhead.” Sam corrects his brother in the same innocent tone.

“Ah, right.” Dean snaps fingers and looks at Dimitri. “Sorry, man. Your're just not important enough to remember.”

“Still as puerile as ever, Winchester.” Dimitri brushes off the insult as haughtily as he can.

“What can I say, I'm young at heart.” Dean returns, all humor gone.

“Immature." Dimitri counters. "What makes you think you're worthy of being alpha?"

"We can trace our line back to the old country, can you?" Sam spits, earning him a surprised look from Dean.

"That's a fairytale your old man dreamed up. You can't prove shit. Besides, he married a _Lovari_. He polluted any purity your bloodline may have had. You're inadequate." Dimitri leans in close to Dean, lowering his voice. "Just like your Daddy was."

Dean has him by the collar in the blink of an eye.

"Half-breed. Mutt." Dimitri continues to goad him.

"My father died for his family! What the hell did yours do, you little bitch?" Dean yells at him.

They're beginning to attract an audience. Duking it out is encouraged, normally, but on the night of the Gathering, especially among the aspirants, it's considered bad form. They'll all be fighting for the championship belt before the sun comes up anyway. Sam grabs Dean to pull him off when Dimitri whispers his reply.

"Mine stayed alive." Cruel words, below the belt.

Dean disengages like he's been gut-punched, then throws a right hook which Sam manages to block. Dimitri won't fight back, not his style, but he stands his ground and Dean beating him to a bloody pulp this early in the proceedings will not help. Sam is now trying to reign in his struggling brother, who's shouting filth, while Dessy shoves Dimitri back, outmatched but stubborn.

"I’ll kick your ass, you sonuvabitch!” Dean tries to yank free of Sam's hold.

“See you after the change, Winchester.” Dimitri smiles and walks away. Dean tries again to go after him. Sam pulls him away from the onlookers. Dessy tries to disperse the crowd.

“Calm down, man, take a breath.” He tries to soothe his brother. “Don't let that asshole break your control.”

Dean shakes Sam off, chest still heaving. “That piece of shit! Thinks he's better ‘cause of his fucking name, hiding behind his Daddy's reputation. I _swear_ I'm gonna kill him.”

“No one’s been killed in the prize fight for a long time, Dean.” Sam warns.

“That's cause they're all chicken shit. Afraid to get blood on their lilly white fuckin' hands.”

“You're angry.” Sam gestures for Dean to keep his voice down. “And you have every right to be, but stow the crap until after the change. The moon’s not up yet, we still have the Elder speech and the Presenting Ceremony to get through.”

“Okay.” Dean grits out, then takes a deep breath. “But after that it's open season on Dimitri.”

A dark look of understanding passes between them. Sam knows that Dean won't actually kill Dimitri if he doesn't have to. He doesn't, however, know if Dimitri will be stupid enough to leave Dean no other choice.

The sun's last clinging rays sink below the horizon, leaving the dome of sky a dark, rich blue above them. Dessy walks over.

"You okay?" She asks Dean.

"Yeah," He forces out. She ignores the anger.

She gestures them to follow the crowd now migrating towards one end of the campsite. "It's about to start, come on."


	5. Chapter 5

 

“Welcome all to the Gathering." Janos, one of the five Elders announces to the crowd. His long white hair is like strands of brittle silk, voice quivering with age but strong despite the frail-looking man emitting it. "Tonight we will see the chosen of our men fight for supremacy. We will honor our forefathers and lay claim to our heritage.”

The crowd breaks into a cheerful roar that must be heard miles away. Smiling, Janos gestures for them to quiet before continuing.

"To those who have never graced us with the change, take your places before the clan.” With a sweeping hand he gestures them forward.

Sam's up. He shucks off his ceremonial coat, handing it to Dean, starts on the buttons of his plaid while toeing off his boots. When he's down to nothing but skin he gives Dean a nervous look and joins the dozen or so naked young men lining up in front of the Elders. He's the oldest, should have presented at a Gathering when he was still a teen, but John had pulled both of them away from the influence of the Romani. As far as he could, at least.

Dean should have presented his change as a teen too, didn't because they weren't around, but when he found out at twenty-one about their lineage he'd been forced to make an appearance or forgo any chance at becoming alpha. John hadn't let him pass up the opportunity. Dean had gone alone; changed, howled and gotten the hell outta dodge. Sam knows he doesn't want to be here now, either, but uneasiness is brewing and they've been forced to come and stake their claim to what is rightfully in their blood.

A slow drumbeat begins. It crawls through the fire-lit dark, one heartbeat marching towards oblivion. More drums join the pulse, creating a choir of thumping that Sam's heart aligns itself to. The drums are calling them forth, luring their inner beasts to the surface.

Sam can feel the wolf, just below his skin, velvet rub of fur against the inside of his skull as the music works it's seductive magic. He feels that he could teeter on the edge of the change, thrumming with it yet not giving in, forever. It's part of his heritage - to have such substantial control - but eventually the moon will call his beast forth.

One by one the youths around him drop, skin rippling and tearing with the change, bone splitting and re-knitting into new shapes. Fur flows and howls rise in a glorious cacophony. Sam wants to outlast them. To show his strength in will and deed. As the last twitching bit of human flesh recedes he throws his face skyward, unleashes a sound more animal than human and lets loose the change.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The first-timers shake blood-moist pelts and bound off into the forest. It's the last Dean will see of Sam in hours, chestnut fur shining in the moonlight as it disappears amongst the trees.

Now the others will change, spurred on by the haunting drums, called forth to walk amidst the night. The air teems with crackly static, so many men changing in close proximity, making it hard to draw breath, like his lungs are filled with molasses. Afterwards the field is a sea of multihued fur, women dotted through it like small islands, holding _învelişes_ and other clothing, the only men left in human form are Elders and aspirants. Dean takes this opportunity to study the men he'll have to fight.

Dimitri stands far off to his right, black hair glinting in the light of the many bonfires. Unsurprisingly he’s been caught off guard by Sam's display of power. Dean hopes that he's second-guessing his dismissal of their purported heritage, hopes that it’ll be enough to give him the upper hand. Scattered throughout the rest of the crowd stand four other aspirants, but they're trembling, wide eyes telling him that they're fighting off the change. Easy pickings, Dean thinks. No, the real opponent here is Dimitri.

“Gentlemen!” Elder Janos' voice breaks him out of his musings. “You are our aspirants. Now is the time to take your place and present the change. You will lead the hunt, then return here to present the winner and successor.”

The aspirants strip and step forward, Dean and Dimitri casting dark glances at each other. Dean finds Dessy in the crowd, throws her a reassuring smile. She looks worried, smaller than usual behind the bundle of his and Sam's clothing clutched to her chest.

His eyes wander as the drum beats quicken. A myriad lupine eyes are locked onto them, expectation and excitement staring from glossy black pools. His skin prickles with the need to change. A primitive surge, wanton and undeniable.

He thinks of Sam, running free in his true skin, out there somewhere in the dark. Hopes that Dimitri won't try anything during the hunt, knows that it’ll be his death sentence if he does.

Dimitri has hated them since childhood, looking down his nose at the brothers who’ve threatened his reputation as the last pure-blood eligible for the throne. It was always going to come down to them, the other aspirants merely here for show. None of them have the power needed to rule the clan. None of them have enough control over their beasts.

No, he and Sam are the true heirs, Dimitri coming from a branch of the same line, long removed, and powerful in his own right, but not quite pure enough. It was his father’s meddling that forced John’s hand all those years ago. Forced him to take his sons and flee after a failed attempt on Dean’s life left them shaken and unsure of their allies. The one thing John knew for certain was that Dimitri’s father Stefan was behind it. He’d been sure of his enemies until the day he died.

Sam doesn’t know any of this, still blames John for ripping them away from their people, for making them outcasts in a community of outcasts. Dean is the eldest, burdened with the true knowledge of his responsibilities and the risks that accompany them. Carrying the weight of the Kavendish family's secret machinations and aspirations to illegitimate power.

Now, though, he has a chance to take the high seat and shame Dimitri and his family once and for all. He’s stayed away long enough, he _and_ Sam. It’s time for them to reclaim their place, exact their pound of flesh.

In that moment Dean feels a certainty, a calm, eliciting a response thousands of years in the making. The ghosts of their elders flow through molten veins. A piece of their heritage forever dialed in to who they are. Forever shaping what they'll become.

The drums speed up to a gut-wrenching pace, trying to rip the wolves from them. The other aspirants lose it fast, falling to the ground in ripples of billowing fur. Dimitri keeps an eye on Dean, breath labored but trying to hide it. He’s strong enough to hold off for a while, but he won’t outlast Dean.

The drums continue to play frenetically, last men standing fighting against their call. Dimitri’s breath is coming quicker now, weighty pulse point in his neck visible as his heart speeds up to match the drums, hands in fists that are trembling with strain.

Dean’s own hands are curled tight at his sides but his lips curl into a cocky smile. They're shoulder to shoulder, so close that he can feel the fine shake of Dimitri’s muscles like heat along his skin. His own pulse is going triple-time, every muscle drawn tight as a drum skin. He can't ignore the moon, just has to outlast Dimitri.

They remain in a tense stale mate as the moon continues it’s slow arc across the black sky. Breath running so hot that it puffs out visibly in the warm night air. Dimitri breaks first, lets out a dying animal shriek and changes. Dean lets his wolf loose in a moment of triumph, change coming painfully for having waited so long. He gives himself a moment to stretch new muscles and he's off to a chorus of howls.

 

* * *

 

They're running through a few hundred square miles of wilderness. Dozens of wolves moving like one giant, heaving beast. The others peel off here and there, and eventually Dean’s moving alone, Dimitri and the other aspirants trying to keep pace. Somewhere along the way he picks up Sam's scent before losing it in the dry underbrush. The sound of a scurrying animal has him veering to the left, almost looping around as he takes up the chase.

It's a deer, beautiful sandy pelt shot with gold in the moonlight. They have to make a kill, winner to be anointed in the blood of the prey. It doesn't matter who takes out the animal but once it's down the fight begins.

They're chasing it back in the direction of the camp when Dimitri shoots past Dean from the left, sharp teeth clamping down on the deer’s throat. The others gather around him as he growls, defending his trophy. One of the aspirants jumps him prematurely, thinking he actually has a chance, and is taken out by two more as they tumble off among st the trees in a jumble of fur and teeth. Dean’s deciding whether to take out the fourth opponent before going for Dimitri or just attacking his enemy outright when the choice is made for him. The ruddy wolf goes for Dimitri, trying to get a good hold on his throat but Dimitri drops the dying deer and fights him off. They grapple in the carpet of leaves until a yelp sounds, the ruddy wolf conceding the black’s victory.

Dimitri turns back to Dean, teeth bared in a snarl, ready to pounce. Dean steels himself for the impending impact. It doesn't come head on as he expects but from the sides and rear, the three other wolves having moved around him while he was watching the fight in front of him. So, it turns out their scuffle was merely a ruse, a decoy to help Dimitri take him out.

Dean's blood runs cold when he realizes the depths the Kavendish family will go to ensure their bloodline gets alpha. They've paid off the other aspirants, no doubt, ensuring their loyalty. Dean has a split moment of decision before he begins to fight.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’ve translated certain words into Romanian for use in this fic (consciously choosing that stereotyped gypsy angle), as well as used some words in the Vlax Romani language that I found online. If any of it is painfully, badly, laughably wrong please feel free to correct me so I can fix it. My pedantic nature wouldn’t let me just make shit up, so I’ve really tried to be as authentic as possible here. But I’m only as good as my google-fu.
> 
> Translations:  
> gadže - outsider, non-Romani (Romani)  
> înveliş - coating, cover, casing, coat, jacket, envelopment (Romanian) I've used this one as a name for the made up ceremonial coats and traditional dress that the characters wear.

Sam emerges from the tree line when the moon is reaching it's zenith, padding back to the camp on four paws. Most of the others have already returned, some changed back to human form, some still roaming around as wolves. He finds Dessy, stoking the small cooking fire outside her _varda_ , Nana napping in a very modern camping chair by her side.

Dessy turns strained, teary eyes to him. She's worried about Dean. He nudges her hand with his head, trying to comfort her but she pulls it away and opens the _varda_ for him.

"Your clothes are inside." She says as he climbs up, shutting it after to give him privacy.

He's outside in human form a few minutes later, jeans and t-shirt pulled back on hastily, sitting on a chair by the fire to put on his boots. "Any word?"

She shakes her head and pours them some whiskey. It burns down his throat, tastes good, but he really needs to eat something. Happily accepts the bowl of stew that Dessy hands him, as though reading his mind.

"You don't think Dimitri will try to kill him, do you?" She asks quietly, eyes watching the fire.

"I don't think he has the balls." Sam replies evasively.

Dessy takes a deep breath and a sip of the liquor. "You should have seen him. He fought the change to the last, just like you. Dimitri broke first." She smiles proudly.

Sam shares her pride, finishes off his food before returning to his helping of whiskey. "They should have been back by now," he says to the empty glass.

"Yeah..." Dessy empties her glass as a racking howl fills the air.

They both stand, hurrying across the end of the field to where Dean is limping out from the trees. His steps are laborious, painful, and when he enters the glow of the fires they can see the blood painting his torso a flaming scarlet, with globs of thicker things spattered throughout. He stops a few steps after clearing the woods, raising his right hand to display Dimitri's severed head, face the distorted mask of death.

Dessy throws both hands up to her face, ring-laden fingers lining up to resemble golden, bejeweled teeth, a heinous grin. Sam hurries to help his brother, Dean's arm shaking as the proffered trophy falls back to his side. He limps through the soundless and dum-struck crowd with Sam's help, as they part for him like the Red Sea parting for Moses. They reach the Elders' cluster of _vardo_ , Dean once again presenting the proof of the kill, and are met by Dimitri's parents.

Stefan holds his sobbing wife, expression encompassing all the hate he has for Dean and his kin, along with the regret of not being able to destroy him when he had the chance. Elder Janos steps forward, leaning heavily on his cane.

"The others?" He asks of Dean.

"They'll live." The words drip icily from his mouth but his eyes, and his reply, are all for Dimitri's parents.

Dimitri's mother steps forward, tears staining her face, and looks like she's about to break down. She slaps him, hard enough that Sam can feel the reverberations of the blow through the arm he has around Dean's shoulders. She spits at their feet, letting go a torrent of Romani curses as her husband and people drag her away.

"We have an alpha." Elder Janos' voice booms, silencing the murmuring crowd. "Dean Winchester!"


End file.
